The Way to the Top Read online

  Communicate with care

  Robert B. CATELL

  Chairman and CEO of KeySpan Corporation

  Work hard and do the best you can do no matter what job you are given. Don’t get caught up in the politics of a corporation, and treat all individuals as you would like to be treated.

  Give your best to your work and your colleagues

  Bob CHAPEK

  President of Buena Vista Home Entertainment

  On my first day at J. Walter Thompson in Chicago, my first employer out of graduate school, my then-immediate supervisor, Myron Lyskanycz, sat me down. He explained that I would never get ahead in the business world by doing what was expected of me. No, that would only lead to stagnation and mediocrity. Instead, I would need to perform well above and beyond those expectations. I would need to find spare time to deliver business-building initiatives that were not actually part of my job description and duty. That was the only way to get ahead: complete what was expected, and then exceed it wildly with a proactive initiative designed to build the business, and, in turn, my career.

  Go beyond

  Joseph T. CHARLES

  President of Charles Industries, Ltd.

  When developing a product, make sure that it is market driven. Great products that lack champions, identified markets, or customers are destined for failure.

  Let the market drive what you do

  Abe CHEHEBAR

  CEO of Accessory Network Group and Ghurka

  The final result of the eye-for-an-eye, tooth-for-a-tooth theory is two toothless blind men. In the end, good old common sense and logic always prevail.

  Revenge doesn’t make sense

  Thomas CHEN

  President of Crystal Window and Door Systems

  My parents told me to remember my roots, and over the past fifteen years this has proved to be much more than a lesson in humbleness. It is a very sound way of conducting business and managing people.

  I came to the United States from Taiwan in 1982, when I was twenty-seven. I had only a high school education, very little money, and no English language skills whatsoever. I worked hard at several jobs while studying English at night. Eventually I took what I learned and started my own company, making and installing window guards, and, ultimately, manufacturing windows. Today, Crystal Window and Door Systems does nearly $50 million in sales, serves 25 states, and employs 350 people.

  For me, as an employer, “remembering my roots” means remembering what it was like to come to a new country, learn a very different language, and work virtually around the clock to earn a living. I hire many new immigrants because I know what they are going through and I know what they have to offer.

  I have offered professionally conducted on-site English language lessons to all my employees and I bring in consultants to work with key personnel on American business practices. I find many of today’s immigrants come here with great educational training, strong computer skills, and a work ethic of epic proportions, yet they lack the proper environment in which to thrive. Crystal tries to provide that as an “immigrant-friendly” workplace. It is as beneficial for me to help these new Americans as it is for them to help me and my firm.

  I am honored that many Chinese and Taiwanese immigrants looking to launch their own businesses in my community consider me a mentor. In addition to counsel, I am often able to provide seed money as an investment for their future as well as mine. More important, the business connections and relationships forged through mentoring have been steadfast and very worthwhile, literally opening many new and profitable doors and windows.

  When I was asked to join the Board of Directors for the Queensborough Community College (QCC) Fund, I jumped at the chance. In that capacity, I am able to influence and advise, among other things, QCC’s Port of Entry Program, which helps immigrant students assimilate into the American academic and business world more effectively. Several QCC graduates of this program have worked with Crystal over the years. Crystal recently established a $250,000 scholarship endowment fund for the QCC Port of Entry Program to ensure its continued success, and I look forward to bringing many future graduates on board at Crystal.

  My parents were right. Remembering my roots has proved to be sage business advice, for what I give, I receive many-fold in return. I am certain that remembering old roots has made putting down new roots here in America all the more meaningful and more successful.

  Remember your roots

  Steve CODY

  Managing Partner and Cofounder of Peppercom, Inc.

  One of my valued mentors was the CEO of an international management consulting firm who, at the time, was in his mid-sixties and suffering from severe emphysema. I was about twenty-eight years old and just beginning my career in public relations. In five years of reporting directly to him, he never failed to be polite to me and always answered each and every one of my questions with patience and sagacity. When I once thanked him for his kindness, he said to me, “I’m being kind to you because I want you to understand how important it is to be kind to younger people. I want you to help younger people as you grow and mature the same way I have with you.” While those words were simple, they have been extremely important to me and have helped me build an international public relations firm that is consistently rated by our employees to be one of the best workplaces in America.

  Another mentor was a CEO who, at the time, was head of one of the larger PR firms in the country. At one point, we were involved in pitching a significant piece of new business. As we prepared, he and I went back and forth on whether to take a conservative or provocative approach in the proposal we’d be submitting. I erred on the side of caution and he demurred. We went into the pitch and found out later that another firm had beaten us. This CEO’s postmortem advice was to not be afraid of failure. He told me that if I wasn’t afraid to risk failure, I’d probably never succeed. That advice proved prescient: it took a major failure at a large agency in order for me to take the risk of starting my own business eight years ago. Today, my firm is one of the top independent public relations firms in the country. I’ve succeeded because I was willing to take a chance.

  Help others grow, and take risks

  Barbara CORCORAN

  Chairman and Founder of The Corcoran Group Real Estate

  JANUARY 1991, NEW YORK CITY

  “Where’s the kitchen?” I asked as the superintendent opened the door to yet another dreadful apartment.

  “This one doesn’t have one,” he said, “but the pipes are all there.”

  I had already scheduled the sales meeting to announce the closing of my business when a big developer called and asked that I appraise a group of eighty-eight apartments in six buildings that he and his financial partners owned on the Upper East and West Sides. The apartments had languished on the market for three years and were leftovers from the go-go years when the real estate market did a jackknife dive and ended with a splat.

  The developer, Bernie Mendik, and his investment partner, Equitable Insurance, had a $50 million underlying mortgage on the buildings, leaving each apartment’s monthly maintenance charge 40 percent higher than the rest of the market. The high maintenance, along with the difficulty buyers were having in finding financing, made the apartments virtually impossible to sell.

  I looked at the white-tile, white tub, white-sinked bathroom badly in need of caulking. “At least there’s a bathroom. It’s lovely!” I commented, and closed the door.

  Finding buyers for these apartments would be no easy feat. Prices had plummeted 40 percent since the stock market crashed in ’87 and every would-be customer in New York City still believed that if they waited, they’d be able to buy any apartment for less the following day.

  I returned to the office and called Mr. Mendik. “I’m afraid I have bad news, Bernie,” I began. “There’s just no way your apartments can be sold in this market. They’ve been listed for more than three years and there aren’t any takers. I’m sure you’re aware that the apartments need
a ton of work and the maintenance charges are way out of line with the rest of the market. I’m sorry, Bernie, I really wish I could help.”

  “Barbara,” Bernie responded with his trademark enthusiasm, “you’re a smart girl! You’ll figure it out.” And he hung up the phone.

  SUMMER 1962, TOMS RIVER, NEW JERSEY

  We were sitting outside on Grandpa’s screened porch after lunch when I heard a lot of noise at the farm across the road. “Mom!” I yelled with my hands cupped on the screen door. “There’s some fancy cars pulling up to the farm. Can we go see what’s going on?”

  “Just a minute,” she answered, “and we’ll all go together. Ellen, help me finish the dishes, and, Denise, put away the cups. John, sit on Grandpa’s lap there, and, Eddie, wipe your face. Barbara, stay right there, and keep your eye on Tommy, Mary, Martin, and Jeanine.”

  By the time my mother walked across the road with her six children trailing behind, there was a line of fancy cars, and a line of fancy city folks to go with them waiting by the gate.

  “What’s going on today?” my mother asked a lady in a very shiny dress.

  “What’s going on?” the lady repeated, flapping a fan in front of her face. “What’s going on is that that farmer lady gave me an appointment at noon and then let that woman there ahead of me.”

  “I had an appointment at noon, too,” grumbled the bald-headed man behind her.

  “And so did we,” a very skinny lady said, standing with a man by their blue convertible. “And, by the way,” the very skinny lady added, “you’re behind us.”

  “Oh, I don’t have an appointment,” my mother explained, as she straightened the hem of her housedress. “We’re just visiting relatives next door.”

  “What’s everyone waiting for?” Denise asked.

  “For the puppies,” the lady with the fan said as if we should know. “They’re Jack Russells, and they have three of them for sale right over there next to the barn.”

  “You better make that two,” a lady with a poufed head of blond hair said as she walked past cradling a tiny brown-spotted puppy. She was making baby sounds. “I got the absolutely cutest one of all! Just look at his sweet little face!”

  The people waiting in line bristled, and Mom moved us out of the way as the line squeezed closer together. “Come over here, kids,” she directed, as the fan lady hurried through the gate, “and I’ll tell you what’s really going on.” Mom laughed to herself as she explained: “The farmer’s wife was smart enough to get everyone to come at the same time because she knew it would make everyone want a puppy!”

  “But why would it make everyone want a puppy, Mom?” Ellen asked.

  “Because everybody wants what everybody wants. And when there are ten buyers and only three puppies, every dog becomes the pick of the litter.”

  JANUARY 1991, NEW YORK CITY

  I had an idea! What was good for the puppies would be good for apartments, and the next day, I called Bernie back to make an appointment. Bernie liked my new idea and asked me to explain it to his partners later that week, which I did. Next, I explained it to three serious men from the underwriting banks, and later explained it to the even more serious men from the lead lender, Chase Manhattan Bank. And finally I explained it to the most serious men of all from the Equitable Life Insurance Society of the United States, the majority investor. They all seriously liked it.

  By the fifteenth of January, my last-ditch plan to save my business was in full swing.

  “Here’s how it works,” I said to Esther Kaplan (The Corcoran Group’s Vice President) and to one of my best agents, Tresa Hall. Tresa had agreed to be the project’s Sales Manager. “I’ve priced all the studios at $49,500, all the one-bedrooms at $99,500, and all the two-bedrooms at $165,500.”

  “Even the high floors?” Esther interrupted.

  “Yes, high floors, low floors, front apartments, and back apartments, all priced the same. Apartments with views or no views, those with new kitchens, old kitchens, or no kitchens at all, all priced the same!”

  “But how’s that possible?”

  “I added up all the original asking prices, divided by the number of units in each building, and then deducted ten percent, because that’s what people would have negotiated off the price anyway.”

  Esther shifted slightly in her chair.

  “And I’ve also taken away every objection that a buyer could possibly have. There’s no board approval needed and one of the banks with a big stake in the building has agreed to provide the mortgages. Also, there’ll be no monthly maintenance charges for two whole years! None.”

  “None?” Tresa repeated. “But that’s crazy! Who’ll pay the maintenance each month?”

  “The sellers will,” I answered, “because it’s included in the sale price. We’re simply giving the buyers one less check to write each month and moving the high-maintenance objection out of the way.” I pulled out a sample contract and continued, “We’ll have the eighty-eight contracts prepared in advance by the seller’s attorney, and we’ll stack them high for everyone to see. The buyers will sign them right then and there the morning of the sale.”

  “But that isn’t legal, is it?” Esther queried, as she tilted her head to the left. “Barbara, you know buyers have to show the contract to their attorney before they can sign it!”

  I pulled out the big rubber stamp I had had made and with one quick motion imprinted the sample contract on my desk with bold lettering:

  CONSULT YOUR ATTORNEY

  You have two weeks from this date to cancel the contract and receive your full deposit back.

  Esther and Tresa looked cautiously optimistic.

  At the next Monday meeting, I announced to our salespeople that we had eighty-eight new co-op apartments for sale, that they were located in six different buildings on the Upper East and West Sides, and that we were going to sell all of the apartments on the same day for the same price. “Pick any studio for $49,500,” I said emphatically, “any one-bedroom for $99,500, or any two-bedroom for $165,500!”

  When I wouldn’t disclose the apartments’ addresses, everyone wanted to know where they were even more. “This is not a sale open to everyone and it will not be advertised.” I had no money for advertising, but didn’t share that fact. “We will distribute the exact addresses and unit numbers only on the morning of the sale. I ask that you please tell only, I repeat only, your very best customers. And, of course, you can also tell your family. The sale is limited to one per customer and will take place three weeks from today, first come, first served. Nine A.M. sharp!”

  Everyone looked intrigued, and after I ended the meeting, I could still hear the buzz from my office.

  Two weeks before the day of the sale, I added fuel to my fire by worrying aloud to a few salespeople, “I’m a little concerned that we might not have enough to go around.” My whisper campaign created a virtual frenzy.

  A week before the sale, accusations began to fly that someone had gotten hold of “The List” and that she was already telling her customers which apartments were the best ones. I quelled the rumor at that Monday’s meeting.

  “No one has the list!” I stated emphatically to the crowded sales floor. “I repeat, No one has the list! There’s only one list, and it’s safely locked in Esther Kaplan’s drawer. Esther, please show them!” With that, Esther played magician’s assistant and walked over to her desk, where she unlocked the drawer and pulled out the sheets of typed paper. As she held them up and turned from one side of the room to the other, fifty salespeople wiggled forward for a better view.

  “Thank you, Esther,” I nodded. “Now, please lock it back up!” Everyone watched as Esther put the list into an envelope, put the envelope in the drawer, locked it, and dropped the key into her purse. “Everyone will get the list next Monday morning, nine A.M. sharp!”

  FEBRUARY 1991, NEW YORK CITY

  “Stand back!” Tresa Hall, a former flight attendant, commanded the chaotic, shoving throng of buyers. “I repea
t, stand back and clear the doors!”

  I was shocked to see the crowd of buyers stretching to the end of the block. “Excuse me, excuse me, please, excuse me,” I repeated as I made my way up East Sixty-ninth Street.

  The line had started at 4:00 A.M., and by 8:30 had grown to include hundreds of people desperate to snag an apartment. Tresa’s voice cut through the crowd. “We will distribute the list of apartments momentarily,” she said, demonstrating with broad flight attendant arm motions. “And we’ll be handing it out starting in the front and will work our way to the back of the line as quickly as possible. Please note that a map is attached to the back of each list with all the addresses and apartment numbers clearly marked. There are salespeople stationed on every floor in each of the buildings, the apartment doors are open, so that you can go in and look at any apartment you choose. Once you’ve made your decision, however, you must return to this table in this lobby to sign the contract.” She directed all eyes toward the banquet table, which stood in the lobby with eighty-eight waiting contracts stacked high.

  “When you are ready to sign a contract and leave us your ten percent deposit check, the apartment will be immediately taken off the market. Please have several apartments you’d like to try for, as your first choice may already be taken! You’ll be given a copy of the signed contract to take with you for your attorney.